Real Again
by notourmoniker
Summary: Romantic SnowQueen. Set during the first curse. Slow burn.
1. Mundanity

Regina was sure to run into her every morning.

Sometimes she spilled coffee on herself, other times she'd lose her balance and fall to the sidewalk, or other times still she'd end up with the contents of her purse scattered in the street.

Today it was fourth grade math worksheets.

"Watch where you're going." Regina snapped with an almost rehearsed level of vehemence.

But before Mary Margaret could respond, Regina already knew what she would say.

"Oh, Madame Mayor! I'm so sorry!"

She sighed to herself at the repetitive nature of their encounter.

At first their morning collisions had been a way to ensure that her day went well, and Mary Margaret's went terribly. It was a small victory, a daily reminder that she had won…and there was little comparable to starting the morning with some cruel words thrown casually at Snow White.

Using a careful remark about her mohair sweater, lack of coordination, or overall incompetence, Regina reveled in how completely she had made a mockery of her former stepdaughter.

But as months wore on, years wore on, _decades_ wore on, her routines became ruts, her antagonism too practiced too be enjoyable, and her life more mundane than she thought a happy ending would be.

Her curse had manifested as something monotonous and wholly unremarkable.

And it was starting to drain her.

Shifting her attention back to the woman before her, Mary Margaret was still uttering clumsy apologies as she bent down to collect the scattered papers. Without thinking, Regina knelt to help her.

It was only when their hands met reaching for the same sheet that Regina recognized who exactly she was helping. The schoolteacher smiled at her shyly as Regina stood abruptly and took a step back.

"I should have you fined for littering, Miss Blanchard."

Her shy smile fell into a look of genuine concern as her efforts to gather the fallen papers became more frantic.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Mayor Mills. I'm doing my best."

Regina rolled her eyes.

"Once again, your best fails in its attempts at adequacy."

Mary Margaret's lower lip trembled at the words, but she said nothing.

This woman, like everyone else in Storybrooke, was pathetic. Though Regina had designed it that way, she couldn't fully thrill in the ways she humiliated Snow White and her collection of misfit companions as none of them were aware of it. Almost two decades had passed and Regina hated herself for being dissatisfied with the world she created and its spineless, irritating inhabitants, who folded under her provocations without a second thought.

There were even brief moments of insanity that she _missed_ the Enchanted Forest, if only because it lacked the predictability that was written into every person, place, and moment in this godforsaken town.

Recognizing that her mind had wandered, she watched as Mary Margaret grabbed the last of the papers and stood hastily.

Her eyebrows were furrowed in a look of cautious anxiety that Snow White would never have worn.

Regarding each other for moment, Regina realized Mary Margaret was waiting for her to speak. Probably awaiting some veiled threat or much more blatant insult.

"Do you need something else Miss Blanchard, or should I add a loitering charge on top of littering?"

The words felt scripted and stiff, but Mary Margaret nodded tensely.

"Of course, Madame Mayor. I'll be off."

As she sidestepped Regina, she kept her eyes averted and shoulders slumped in a show of submission.

Watching the schoolteacher nervously continue on her way, Regina sighed deeply.

She hated Mary Margaret, but there was no denying that the thrill that had once come from frightening and embarrassing her lacked the potency - the near palpability - it once had. It was infuriating. _Nothing_ should have brought her more joy than treating this woman cruelly without consequences.

Yet, Regina was bored. The torment she had thought would occupy her days and give her both peace and happiness felt shallow and unsatisfying. Mary Margaret was evidence of that. If Regina could not even work up a sense of excitement at terrorizing this shadow of Snow White…Well, it pointed to a need to change things, to find something new that could offer her the life Storybrooke had failed to.


	2. Rumors

There had been rumors, though Mary Margaret was sure that was all they were, that Mayor Mills was looking to adopt a child. When people spoke about it, they often added in their own whispered criticisms about the her assumed lack of maternal aptitude.

Not one to gossip and always willing to see the best in people, she sometimes thought of speaking up and defending the Mayor, despite the fact that the other woman had only ever treated her with malice or indifference. Still, she wanted to believe that were the rumors true, Mayor Mills' determination, passion, and diligence would result in a positive home environment for any child.

But her optimism was not enough that Mary Margaret ever did speak up. In fact, she found herself unable to completely dismiss the concerns expressed across Storybrooke as the rumors circulated. After all, it was near impossible for her to imagine Regina Mills as _anyone's_ mother. She did find it cruel, however, how readily people dismissed her supposed desire to try.

Often when she thought of the Mayor (which was more often than she would ever admit) she considered what she might be like with a child.

Softer, warmer, kinder.

Kinder would certainly be nice, she thought to herself. Especially, if the kindness extended to those the Mayor had a tendency to pick on, provoke, and otherwise harass.

Though the prospect of the older woman treating her decently for once appealed to her, she also felt a degree of apprehension at the thought of Regina being too busy with a child to pay attention to her. The thought terrified her if only because she found that she would prefer the Mayor's cruelty over the loss of their interactions altogether.

Caught again in these thoughts, Mary Margaret sat in a nearly empty Granny's nursing a cup of coffee. She must have looked to be deep in thought, because Ruby was refilling salt shakers rather than regaling her with stories from her last night out.

Suddenly, the early evening quiet was disrupted as Leroy came in, his usual group tailing behind.

"Archie ought to declare her incapable of raising a kid. I mean _her_ , really?"

He spoke loudly while the men he was with nodded in agreement, filling in booths and tables.

Focus broken, she listened to the sniggers and jokes made at the Mayor's expense. Unconsciously, her knuckles whitened around her coffee cup, and though she kept her head down, Mary Margaret felt her urge to speak up flair.

"No kidding" Ruby said. "Better without a mom than with that bi-"

The bell above the door rang, and an uneasy silence settled over the diner. Mayor Mills scanned the room, eyes cold, only showing a brief glimmer of interest when she spotted the young teacher sitting alone.

Walking up to the counter, her heels clicked on the linoleum in a way that felt distinctly Regina.

"Miss Lucas, am I mistaken or does this establishment serve coffee?"

Ruby snapped into action at her words, and the other patrons averted their eyes.

Mary Margaret however, found herself unable to look away. She watched as the Mayor turned and leaned on an elbow with a look that seemed to dare her. What that might mean, she was uncertain.

Their eyes met, and she felt the shiver of both excitement and anxiety that rushed along her spine whenever Regina looked at her. The older woman merely nodded, her lips turning up in a mix between a sneer and a smile.

"Miss Blanchard."

With that, she became aware of just how openly she was staring and quickly turned her head back down.

Then came a tense moment when she knew that Mayor Mills was still looking at her. She could feel it, and she was unsure if she wanted Regina to look away or look forever.

The sound of Ruby roughly putting a paper coffee cup on the counter prompted the Mayor to turn around to pay.

Mary Margaret tried to watch the exchange out of the corner of her eye.

 _A to-go cup. Nice, Ruby. Subtle._

The Mayor scanned the room once more, head high and back straight, before starting to leave. Yet, as she neared the door she paused and turned, as though a thought she had nearly forgotten returned to her.

"Oh, and next time you and the rest of the rabble have the desire to speak about me and my _private_ affairs, might I suggest a more discreet venue."

Turning again, she left. The bell overhead signaled her departure.

Without thinking, Mary Margaret stood and followed her.

"Madame Mayor!" she called out, surprised by how quickly the other woman was able to move in heels.

Regina stopped, only slightly angling herself towards the younger woman.

"Yes Miss Blanchard? Do you need something?"

She sounded every bit as annoyed as Mary Margaret would have expected.

"I just wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" Her eyebrow rose.

"Yes. For them, in there -" She inwardly swore at her inability to properly articulate herself in Regina's company.

"Oh is that right?" she hissed. "You've come to speak on their behalf? The pretended voice of the people?"

Her tone put Mary Margaret on guard.

"No I -" She hesitated about what it was exactly that she wanted to say.

The Mayor waited and then sighed, looking as though she'd become bored of this conversation.

"It's fine Miss Blanchard. People talk, and I've learned from experience that it's rarely pleasant."

The way she'd said it made Mary Margaret want to reach out in comfort, though she was sure that it would only have the opposite effect.

Apparently feeling that their dealings were done, the older woman started to turn away.

"I think you'd make a wonderful mother."

The words were out now, and Mary Margaret folded her hands protectively in front of herself waiting for whatever would come next.

Regina's face shifted in that subtle not so subtle way it did when she'd discovered something she thought she could use against someone.

"Could it be, Miss Blanchard, that you see me as a maternal figure?"

Mary Margaret laughed before she had the presence of mind to stop herself, and laughed even harder when she saw how surprised the other woman was at her response.

"I'm sorry," She tried to get something out between giggles. "It's just, no. I don't."

"Really?"

The question seemed to have been asked in earnest, which was rare between them.

It stifled the rest of her laughter.

Regaining her composure, she replied. "My mother passed away a long time ago. I hardly remember her to be honest, but I've never looked at you and thought of her. You're more like -"

She regarded Regina who suddenly looked more person-like than Mary Margaret remembered ever seeing her.

 _A mortal enemy. A bitch. A bully. An acquaintance._

As she looked at Regina she noticed how her red lips were downturned and her dark hair and eyes shown in the fading daylight.

She swallowed the next word to come to mind before it had time to fully formulate.

"A friend."

The Mayor's shock was momentary but intense, and Mary Margaret could practically hear her walls slam back into place.

"Is that right Miss Blanchard? Need I remind you that I am Mayor in this town? Why of all people would I want to be friends with _you_?"

Smoothing the lapels of her jacket as she spoke, her actions might have been interpretable as an attempt to calm herself, to reassert the boundaries between them.

Or so it might have seemed to someone who'd never met the Mayor before.

With a curt nod and swish of her hair Regina Mills walked away, leaving Mary Margaret to stand alone on the sidewalk.

For a moment she simply stood. Then, with the shake of her head and a sigh she headed home, smiling at what had ended up being one of their more amiable interactions.


	3. Crestfallen Pt 1

Standing in the center of the hospital overwhelmed and ready to collapse, Regina tried to rock Henry while he continued to cry. Speaking to Whale, her words came out in a frenzied hysteria.

She hadn't slept in weeks, and she felt every bit the failure her mother always told her she would be.

Her phone was ringing.

As her panic intensified she looked for someone to help her.

 _Of course_ , she thought grimly. Whale had gone, and the ward was empty except for one person who was trying to look at her discreetly and having little success.

Mary Margaret. Snow White, who, somehow always managed to be nearest to Regina when she was struggling.

She appeared concerned, and Regina tried to build up the energy or motivation to snap at her for sticking her nose in other peoples business. Instead, she merely handed over her child and tried to keep the begging out of her voice when she asked her to hold him.

Answering her phone felt like the first moment of clarity she'd had in ages. It was only a moment before she realized that it had nothing to do with new zoning ordinances and red tape.

It was quiet.

She turned in horror and awe to see her child sleeping contentedly in the arms of the woman she had destroyed a realm to hurt.

"Give him to me!"

There was the familiar ire.

"Of course! I'm sorry did I do something wrong?" She looked apologetic and fretful, but Regina let all the insults that came to mind die before they passed over her lips. There was a moment of silence and she turned away, a choking realization setting in.

"No. It's me."

Of course it was her. It was always her. How could she have ever thought that she could be a mother. She didn't know what a mother should be. Her own knowledge of being mothered was full of lies, manipulation, criticism, and pain. Her knowledge of being a mother…she turned to look again at Mary Margaret whose eyebrows were still knitted together in worry.

Regina had never mothered anyone before.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Mary Margaret replied with a sincerity that made Regina feel a fool for even needing to ask.

"Get him…get him to stop."

The younger woman's face shifted with her understanding, and Regina was tempted to shut her eyes. She was unsure that she could bear the patronizing pity that would come when Snow White learned that the Evil Queen could not even comfort her infant child. Even though this woman wasn't fully Snow White and she was no longer fully the Evil Queen.

But all that came was a soft and gentle touch to her upper arm, and despite her best efforts otherwise, Regina found solace in it. There stood her mortal enemy, expression open and free of judgement.

"Would you like to sit down somewhere?"

Mary Margaret had spoken softy, and she had heard it because for the first time in weeks, Henry had stopped crying.


	4. Crestfallen Pt 2

The hospital bench was stiff and uncomfortable, but Mary Margaret hardly noticed as she watched Regina fidget awkwardly while trying to balance the baby in her lap.

After a few tense moments, she spoke.

"His name is Henry."

Mary Margaret smiled softly, repeating the name quietly as she extended a finger to brush along his tiny fist, but Regina shifted and angled herself and her son away from the proffered touch.

It stung, as so many moments with the Mayor tended to. Though Mary Margaret was aware of the tension between them, she had never been able to place its origin.

Yet every snide remark, cruel glance, and unprovoked harassment reminded her that it was there - reminded her that Regina had few qualms in asserting her authority and formidable personality on whomever fell out of her good graces.

Mary Margaret doubted she had ever been in them to begin with.

But though Regina was aloof and often unkind, right now she was a mother desperate to understand why her child had not calmed in her arms but in Mary Margaret's.

The mayor's usual sharp edges were dulled by a lack of sleep and endless worry. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, her red lips looked faded, and her hair and clothes - though not immediately noticeable - were less put together than usual.

The sight of her in such a state brought images to Mary Margaret's mind of Regina waking to late night crying, burping a baby, changing his diapers, and feeling pangs of heartache as she found she could not comfort him.

Something about it was unexpected and humanizing.

It showed that somewhere within her, Regina desired the same things other people did, a family, love, _happiness_.

And it was not in Mary Margaret's nature to see such distress, especially in this woman, and sit idly by when she could help in providing those things.

"Maybe he just needed a change of scenery."

She tried to speak cheerily and lighten the heavy air that was settling around them.

"What would you know about it, Miss Blanchard? It's not as if _you've_ ever been a parent."

Mary Margaret felt a flash of unplaceable anger within her, but she took a steadying breath and reminded herself that this was hard for Regina. Even the bitterness in her words did little to disguise the pride evident in the slant of her shoulders and poise with which she held herself. Everything about this woman spoke to an unwillingness to accept even the implication that she might need help.

Even so, Mary Margaret offered.

"If you ever needed someone to come sit with him for awhile, let you get some sleep, I would be more than happy to."

She watched as Regina pursed her lips and suppressed whatever cruelty had just come to mind.

While waiting for a response, she hesitantly spoke again.

"It's not a weakness."

"Of course if's not!" Regina snapped.

At her sudden change in tone, Henry started to fuss.

Though tempted to reach to him, Mary Margaret refrained, cautious of how her actions might further antagonize the woman before her.

Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out an old grocery receipt and a pen. Quickly scribbling her phone number onto it, she held it out.

"You may not want my help, but you should take it anyway."

Regina stood haughtily, looking at the piece of paper with utter revulsion. For a terrible moment Mary Margaret was sure she would simply laugh in her face, but whatever reaction she might have expected the mayor's hesitance was not it.

Then, in one fluid movement, Regina reached out and took the crumpled slip of paper before turning to leave with Henry still sleeping soundly in her arms.


	5. Begrudging

It had been the sleep deprivation. It had to have been. Nothing else could have made her so weak as to call Mary Margaret for help.

But regardless of the reason, she had. Now every Sunday and Wednesday night Mary Margaret Blanchard came to her house, spent time with her son, and had the audacity to think it meant they were on friendlier terms.

If anything, watching Henry coo and gurgle softly under her attentions only fueled Regina's existing contempt.

At first, she couldn't stand the sight of her child taking comfort with someone else. It brought pangs of hurt and an aching sense of defeat. Still more painful were the moments when he cried as she held him - as if he saw the darkness in her and could feel the blood of her wrongdoings soaking through his cotton coveralls.

But Regina loved her son. Henry was the first promise in years that she trusted.

So as the months passed, she learned how to deal with the pain - daily reminders that he cried less and less in her arms, leaving the room when Mary Margaret came over, and refocusing the dull heartache of her parental failings into a sharp pointed animosity.

Because Regina hated Mary Margaret, found her detestable and utterly loathsome.

But that should not have been new.

She'd hated Snow. Her courage, resilience, and spitfire had been like splinters under her fingernails, grating on every nerve. But this woman, Mary Margaret, a persona she herself had designed, was at times more contemptible than Snow White ever was. She was meek and spineless, looking at Regina doe-eyed and attention seeking. Composed entirely of mindless niceties and unfashionable clothing, Regina was disgusted by her.

Her hate was so potent that there were moments when she caught herself trying to bring out something reminiscent of Snow just to be rid of the woman whose only apparent talent was disrupting Regina's fledgeling family. Sometimes it worked and Mary Margaret's eyes would flash with defiance, her jaw tightening in a way that Snow's had as she grew into herself.

Other times there was no need for provocation. Occasionally, she would do or say something that was so clearly Snow White that Regina wanted to laugh, and sing, and retch all at once.

It made her wonder if the curse had truly done what it was meant to or if it had been an elaborate trap. One in which her punishment for separating Snow White from her child was to watch Mary Margaret interfere with hers.

After all, her happy ending _could not_ look like this - a life where her child seemed to detest her, his rare quiet spells brought on by a woman she hated, and all of it amidst a town full of people who were little more than shadows, caught between who they were and what Regina had made them.

It felt like she'd been cheated. That though enacting the curse was a hard won victory, her spoils were cheap trinkets undeserving of the work that went into winning them.

But her hatred for Mary Margaret, and her disappointment and dissatisfaction with the curse, was only undone by one thing - her disgust with herself.

Because she was starting to see that whatever pathetic and poorly dressed iteration of Snow White existed, Regina needed her.

The great irony of her life was that the one person she despised beyond all others was the only one who seemed capable of keeping her sane.

Though she tried to deny it, she needed Mary Margaret and she'd needed Snow.

One had kept her so focused on anger and revenge that she hadn't fallen into the inconsolable despair that had threatened to consume her since Daniel's death. The other was offering her moments of relief among Henry's endless crying, his refusals to eat, and her slow death by stress and sleep deprivation.

So, she clung to Mary Margaret with an indignant and haughty desperation as she had to Snow. Begrudgingly accepting that this was the only person who could keep her moving when she simply wanted to collapse.

However, this realization did not equate to kindness.

In fact, Regina's self-loathing eased with each callous remark and cold look directed at the younger woman. She was just cruel enough to maintain distance between them, to make Mary Margaret suffer, yet never so cruel as to push her out of grasp. It was a delicate balance, one Regina could manipulate with the precision of a lifetime's practice.

In a sick way she enjoyed it. It brought life back to her, making stale hatred fresh with new incitements.

She wanted to watch Mary Margaret squirm, to know that despite everything she had no power, that Regina was the one who dictated their roles however intertwined.

So though Henry needed her, she would endure a torrent of insults because of it. Each time he settled in her arms and not Regina's she would know that it came with consequences. She would know that her presence was merely tolerated and not welcome.

Regina wanted Mary Margaret to cringe at the sound of her voice but still seek an approval that would never come. That way, they would _both_ be miserable with the hand they had been dealt.

"Regina,"

She started, the pen in her hand jolting and leaving a shaky line in its wake.

Swearing under her breath, Regina looked up to see Mary Margaret tentatively peering into her home office.

The vein in her forehead pulsed with irritation.

"Can I help you Ms. Blanchard? Maybe you'd like some instruction in how best to care for my son."

The barb was misplaced and too revealing, so she made a show of refocusing her attention back on the papers scattered across her desk.

"No. I just wanted to let you know that Henry's down."

As she spoke, Mary Margaret came more fully into the room. Though it was an unspoken rule between them that Regina's office was off limits, in the months since they began their _arrangement_ she seemed to feel entitled to space Regina had claimed as her own. But rather than remind Mary Margaret of what should have been an obvious boundary between them, Regina glanced at the clock. It was later than she'd realized.

"Busy week?"

Standing in front of the desk now, Mary Margaret had apparently moved closer as Regina was caught up in counting the passing hours. When their eyes met she nodded to the stacks of half finished paperwork and open folios.

"Yes, well I am Mayor Miss Blanchard, and I take my job very seriously - unlike those who find harassing me to be the best use of their free time."

Mary Margaret shifted uneasily.

"I actually have all my lesson plans set for tomorrow, and since you look busy I thought I would ask if you needed my help with anything else?" Her voice was getting higher as she spoke, a sure sign _Mary Margaret's_ insecurity.

As if her normal tone wasn't cloying enough.

"Maybe I could make you dinner?"

Narrowing her eyes, Regina leaned back in her chair.

"Miss Blanchard, have I done something to give you the false impression that I would like to spend any more time with you than is necessary?"

Her shifting graduated to a full on nervous fidget.

"I was just trying to help out, I know with Henry-"

"What do you know about _my son_?" She paused, letting the question rest between them. "I hope at least you know how to put him to sleep, because if you've successfully managed that then you can kindly get out of my house."

As soon as she'd said it Regina had known it was one dig too many, and sure enough Mary Margaret's gaze steadied as her cheeks flecked with red from her growing outrage.

It was too familiar, and Regina's mind filled with flashes of arrows, pine trees, and the conceited girl who always managed to elude her.

"Fine, _Regina_ , if my help is so unwelcome then I'll go home. I have much better ways to spend my time anyway."

Her voice carried none of the timidity it had a moment ago. It was clear and strong, and as Mary Margaret turned to leave Regina swore that she was watching Snow White walk out.

Panic started to creep up her shoulders, but as she heard the front door click closed, the sound of Henry crying carried into her office from his room down the hall.

The images of her old life vanished as suddenly as they had come, and Regina sighed, grateful for the way maternal instinct took over even as her body wavered at the prospect of another sleepless night.

But before she stood and went to check on her son, Regina made a quick note to herself to call and ensure that Mary Margaret came back again on Wednesday.


	6. What You See

Mary Margaret stacked the wooden blocks one on top of the other making sure to say their color aloud as Henry watched her transfixed.

They were on the floor of his bedroom playing. Stuffed animals, bright plastic rings, and pastel covered books lie scattered around them on the plush carpet.

Soon, Henry would be able to crawl from one pile of toys to another. Though it seemed only a short time ago that she had started spending time with him, he was already able to sit up on his own and grab at whatever caught his interest.

The blocks were recent favorites, and Mary Margaret smiled as he reached out to knock them over, giggling with him as they toppled to the floor.

Teetering forward, he reached a small hand towards one that had landed nearby. But with single and smooth motion, Mary Margaret righted him while collecting the rest of the blocks to re-stack.

It was then that she felt Regina behind her.

She'd been watching them more often as of late, or maybe it was just easier to tell. Now, whenever she appeared Henry's focus went to her, and so unlike the first few months that Mary Margaret had helped them, he smiled when he saw her.

Regina was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and dressed elegantly - even at home. It would have been an imposing sight if not for the soft expression she directed at her son.

It was a rare moment, and Mary Margaret marveled at the sight of her unguarded smile.

But then Regina's attention shifted away from Henry, and their eyes met. The smile faded, and a look of disdain passed over her face. Yet, as she stepped into the room, dropping to her knees to sit beside them, her features cooled and her attention was back on the child in front of her.

Swallowing thickly, Mary Margaret pushed down the nervousness and timidity that always came when Regina looked at her with such open disapproval. Instead she watched mother and son, and tried to focus on how happy she was that they were growing closer. Though there were still moments that he cried when she held him or when Regina's exhaustion had her reveal a vulnerability that Mary Margaret knew she would never intentionally show, they were less frequent and tempered by instances like these.

Regina had a hand extended and Henry gurgled as he grabbed her forefinger and pulled it closer.

"I think he wants to play with you."

She had spoken softy - a cautious encouragement - but at the sound of her voice, Henry let go of the finger and turned rapt to look at Mary Margaret.

From the corner of her eye she saw Regina pull back, her face scrunching at the rejection.

She inwardly swore at her misstep. It seemed she was always doing something wrong, something meriting insult, or condescension, or a silent sneer. Body tense and mind racing for words that would make this better, she was startled when Regina stood and spoke.

"It seems _you_ are keeping him quite content Miss Blanchard, and though I'm pleased, albeit a bit surprised that you know your basic colors, maybe try counting the blocks this time. Surely you can wait until you have him in class to hinder his intellectual development."

Then she turned and left.

Staring at the now empty doorway, Mary Margaret forcibly relaxed her jaw - which had grown rigid at Regina's words. They weren't even the worst that had passed between them. Since agreeing to watch Henry, she had learned how quick Regina was with abuse and, when given the chance, petty displays of control, or superiority, or whatever it was that she wanted to prove.

She snapped at Mary Margaret for simple things, like not washing Henry's pacifier correctly or wearing too pungent of a perfume. But worse than that were the remarks she often made, little more than innocuous observations on the surface, but with the tendency to cut deeply and grow into points of insecurity.

It was hard - a practice in patience, endurance, and compassion. And though she loved Henry, and treasured the time she was allowed to spend with him, Regina knew the best ways to be cruel.

Yet, Mary Margaret kept coming back despite the way it wore on her self-worth and her sanity. From patronizing glances when Henry cried on her watch, insistence that she walk home in clothes he had spit up on rather than permitting use of the washing machine, to outright remarks that she was incapable of taking care of herself let alone a child, she questioned why she did it, why she returned week after week.

Then, she would see her with him. The way her normally cold face twisted in pain when he wiggled uncomfortably in her arms, making noises just edging on tears, and she was reminded that though she loved Henry, he was not the one who needed her, and he wasn't the biggest reason she was here.

Lifting him off his place on the floor and laying him in his crib, Mary Margaret went to look for Regina.

Lights off in her office, the living room empty, and the kitchen unoccupied, she found her somewhere unexpected, the bedroom.

She was sitting on the far edge of the bed, back to the door.

"Regina?"

She spoke softly, but cringed as the mayor's shoulders visibly tensed when she spoke.

"Do you need something? Perhaps a refresher on how to get from one to ten?"

"No. I'm -" She hesitated, unsure how to continue. "I didn't mean to distract Henry."

Regina turned, still sitting.

"That's your issue Miss Blanchard. You consistently fail to recognize that regardless of intention actions have consequences, and I am tired of listening to half apologies replete with a list of extenuating conditions meant to convince me that I shouldn't still hold you accountable."

Her voice got stronger as she went on, and Mary Margaret's head started to swim with vague thoughts and images she couldn't place. But just as they began to clarify Regina stood and came closer.

For a moment it seemed like she was going to speak, to add to the onslaught, but as they stood face to face, she stilled - eyes narrowing as her lips subtly parted.

"Or perhaps, I'm letting my exhaustion get the better of me. After all, I trust we both have Henry's best interest at heart." She smiled, and it was so jarringly different than the one she had given Henry earlier that Mary Margaret did not respond. As silence stretched between them, Regina leaned in and patted her upper arm.

"You should check on him, dear."

Recognizing the dismissal, Mary Margaret walked back to Henry's room. He was squirming peacefully under his slowly spinning mobile, and though her chest pulled tight as she watched him, she sat in the rocking chair at the foot of his crib and lightly squeezed his foot.

Sitting there, she could not help but think back to those first few visits. Tension had always existed between she and Regina. Though its origin eluded her, she sought to diminish it however she could.

So when given the chance, she offered to watch Henry and maybe more importantly be there for someone who desperately needed it but was too proud to ask.

And in the course of their arrangement, though it hadn't been what she'd expected, Regina and Henry made her aware of parts of herself that she wouldn't have otherwise discovered - echoes of another life ringing out to be fulfilled.

While her perhaps naive desire to ease the tension between them remained, there was something selfish in it too - a desire to chase that feeling, of purpose and impact, and make Regina see that she was more than her personal punching bag, that she had skills and strengths that Mary Margaret hoped she would one day come to see as easily as her weaknesses and faults.


	7. Earning My Own

His first word was 'mama.'

It had the lilt of newly discovered syllables, but when Regina heard it, it resonated through her as an unspoken fear was alleviated.

After a lifetime of devoid of love, of being driven only by hate and despondency, of going so far as to make herself barren, Henry had claimed her. With a single word he gave her the only title that would ever matter.

And Regina was determined to be worthy of it, to earn her place.

So, in the wake of that word their relationship blossomed. The heartaches of the past year eased and faded into shared moments that spoke to the growing bond between them. Henry reached for her in anyone else's arms. He babbled at her through the day and laughed when she babbled back. He looked at her with love in his eyes so strong and bright even Regina could recognize it for what it was.

And as time passed, the look came more often, stronger and surer than each time before.

Insecurities she'd held onto, memories of her mother's whisperings, of her father's silence, of the death and betrayals of those she had cared for, seemed to melt away into distant memories when Regina was reminded that she had the love of her son.

Each day they spent together was a gift. Just as she had built the world around her to fulfill a version of her happy ending, she built her day around Henry. Shared activities grew into routines and before long their afternoons were dedicated to walks through Storybrooke - the sound of Regina's heels on the pavement preceded by the rubber wheels of Henry's stroller rolling along in front of her.

Looking at him now, she smiled. He was pointing and babbling excitedly at things around them. It had become another habit as of late, and like the others it was one she relished and encouraged. When he called out 'tree' as they left the mansion and passed her apple tree she felt pride burst within her. And when they saw Archie and Pongo a few blocks later, Henry giggling and repeating 'dog' over and over, Regina's heart swelled more than it had in decades.

Turning the stroller onto Main Street, she felt as if Storybrooke had taken on new life. What once seemed dull and tired was made fresh and vibrant through Henry's words.

Even the increased downtown traffic did not disrupt her mood. Burbled variations of 'truck' and 'car' drew her eyes to his tiny outstretched arms and the bright gleam of curiosity in his eyes as they explored this world together.

But a crack in the cement jolted the wheels of the stroller and tipped her forward. Focus back on the path before them, Regina saw something that _was_ able to turn the bright smile she wore to a scowl.

Mary Margaret Blanchard. Seemingly impossible to escape. The few times a week she came to the mansion were trying enough, but seeing her during one of the activities Regina had carved out for just she and Henry made lines appear at the corners of her mouth as her brows came together in displeasure.

She had her head down, rifling through her purse as she walked towards them. Regina thought momentarily about turning around and slipping beyond her line of sight, but before she had the chance to change directions, and perhaps avoid notice, the school teacher spotted them and began waving.

As they got closer to one another, the sound of heels on pavement slowed. Plastering on a fake smile, Regina fought the urge to roll her eyes as Mary Margaret spoke.

"Out for a walk?"

"My, how perceptive of you Miss Blanchard." Grimacing, she watched the younger woman bend at the waist to speak more directly to her son.

"And how are you today?" Her voice slipped into a more playful tone as she grabbed one of Henry's extended and wriggling hands.

They laughed together, but while Regina had once been threatened by their relationship, now she delighted in the knowledge that Mary Margaret bore no role in his world. She was a part of his life, that was undeniable, but she was little more than 'miss' - nothing so important as his mother.

The thought eased her irritation, and as she watched Mary Margaret hunching unflatteringly, it occurred to her that their running into each other need not be aggravating.

Perhaps, with a few carefully placed insults, this could even be enjoyable.

"Miss Blanchard, do you enjoy obstructing pedestrian byways?

She stood, adjusting the strap on her purse, and Regina noticed that her knit beret was off kilter, sitting awkwardly to one side. Henry must have tugged at it when she'd knelt down.

Following her gaze, Mary Margaret's cheeks went pink as she righted the hat and pushed a few dark strands of hair back into place.

"I'm sorry Mayor Mills I just wanted to say hello to Henry," she paused, the tops of her ears turning the same shade as her cheeks "and to you."

"Well, now you have. Henry and I need get going so we can finish our afternoon walk. He does _so_ enjoy them." She let the edges of her mouth twist up. "And I'm sure you understand that he'd rather spend time with his _mother_ than with _you_."

Though the words were meant to upset her, Mary Margaret smiled in a way that was prevalent in Regina's most painful memories - open and genuine and nothing but a bad omen.

"I'm so glad things are going well."

As she spoke, she reached out a hand to rest on Regina's upper arm, but the mayor pulled away at the contact, quickly tamping down an emerging snarl.

"Yes, well if they continue to go this well, I doubt we'll be needing any more of your little visits."

Mary Margaret faltered a bit then, her bright eyes flickering with confusion.

Regina reveled in the look.

"Of course. I just want to help and if you're not finding me helpful… Well, I wouldn't want to impose."

Any ground gained slipped out from beneath her. Swallowing her disappointment, Regina added;

"I have rarely found you to be more than a nuisance."

The bite in her words was evident, and for a moment she thought they would illicit the desired reaction. But though hurt flashed across her face, Mary Margaret's lips were drawn in a soft smile before the insult had time to settle.

It was infuriating.

She started to say something else about how she was happy to have helped them, how lucky they were to have each other, but Regina wasn't listening. Her mind was swimming as memories and old indignations bubbled closer to the surface. She knew better than anyone that this woman was incapable of being selfless. Just like Snow White, she only cared about others when it suited her own self image, and Henry's love for Regina, their relationship, the promise of their life and future were not gifts Mary Margaret had bestowed her, they were things Regina had earned all on her own.

So, listening to her ramble on about infant development, parent-child bonding, and her supposed role in it all made anger build inside Regina. Because she remembered with an aching clarity every instant Henry had cried as she held him, every time Mary Margaret offered him a comfort Regina seemingly could not.

And now that she had his love, now that their relationship was moving in a positive direction, she couldn't even use it against Mary Margaret without the younger woman expressing what had to be some kind of insincere graciousness.

It made the already bubbling anger boil, desperate for release, one that promised to be unlike the placed and pointed barbs she wanted. Even as she tried to stop it, the words came, spilling out of her mouth and coating her tongue with a bitter lasting taste.

"Despite your very good and numerous points Miss Blanchard, I am his parent, and neither he nor I require your services now or any time again. Frankly, its remarkable I tolerated you this long."

As she spoke, the space between them fractured, and silence filled the air. Until, Mary Margaret started, voice strained and soft.

"Regina," she let her face fall, her earlier confusion finally turning to a look of open pain "I just wanted to help."

Her expression and the notes of defensiveness in her voice made Regina waver. This was all she'd wanted, to upset her, to prove that she wasn't needed for Henry's sake or her own.

But just as she began to calm, just as she prepared to reign Mary Margaret back in with a practiced nicety or feigned smile, the school teacher crossed her arms and let her shoulders roll forward as she said;

"But if you think that's best for Henry…"

Suddenly, the anger bubbled back up like an acrid sting at the back of her throat.

"I do. You want to help? Then stay away from me and my son."

With that, Regina pushed past Mary Margaret, tightening her grip on the handle of Henry's stroller and trying to convince herself this had been what she'd wanted.


	8. Tedium

Mary Margaret had a headache. In the dim afternoon light of her classroom, her eyes fixed again on a banner at the back of the room - hanging where the wall across from her desk met the ceiling. The alphabet printed on it in basic blues, greens, reds, and yellows, seemed too bright.

She squinted as she felt another tinge of pain behind her temples.

The thought that the banner was too childish suddenly flashed through her mind. It's blocky lettering something less suited to ten year olds than to toddlers - a font one might find on an infant's playthings. The colors obscured by the pudgy grasping hand of a child or perhaps the deliberate and well manicured hand of his mother.

 _Oh._

There it was again. The creeping thought that been like an itch in the back of her mind for the past few months. Regina. _And_ Henry she quickly reminded herself.

Because their names usually _did_ enter her mind together.

Brief pleasant memories of Henry would come, filling her with a sense of warmth, pride, and a newer feeling of disappointment that she was no longer to be part of his life - this last feeling sometimes growing into a greater and indiscernible sadness.

But Regina lingered. Her name, her face, the cruel twist of her lips as she said something snide would make their way to the forefront of Mary Margaret's consciousness and stay there like a stain, or a scar, or the stale smell of perfume.

Even now.

It had been over two months since Regina had fired her, if it could even be called that. Their encounter had been brief, turning from cordial to cruel in an instant. Mary Margaret had replayed it in her mind countless times since, trying to pinpoint where she had gone wrong, what she had said or done to bring on such an abrupt dismissal.

Though she had known from the start that her position in Henry and Regina's lives was never going to be permanent, she had grown used to her visits.

So used to them, that as the months stretched on, she started to build her weeks around Sundays and Wednesdays. Slowly, those two days became the highlight of her life - afternoons and evenings where small joyful moments with Henry, and small satisfying victories against Regina made her feel anchored in the parts of herself that had the tendency to get lost beneath timidity, nervousness, and a frustrating desire to placate everyone around her. Because the same soft smiles and polite words that engendered kindness among the rest of Stroybrooke only made the mayor irritated and mean. And Mary Margaret hadn't wanted to placate her anyway.

She had only wanted to help with Henry and his mother by extension.

Though, at some point, things had shifted. Helping Henry, helping Regina with Henry was still her priority, but she had started wondering what Regina was like in the rare moments when she wasn't harsh and cruel but tender and kind. And then she had wanted be the one eliciting those kindness.

So as the months went on, increasing tolerance, open smiles, and genuine gratitude collected like sand in an hourglass. Each moment adding to the time she was allowed to be a part of their lives. Or so she had thought.

Instead, she had been dismissed with a word on the street as if all the time they had spent together caring for Henry, trying to prove something to the other, meant nothing.

Now, her life was the same as it was before. The only things that had changed were how banal it all suddenly seemed and how often she thought of Regina. But if she were being truthful with herself _that_ had not changed as dramatically as she pretended.

All the same, she should have been able to sit and grade papers on a regular Tuesday afternoon without Regina running through her mind like a song she couldn't quite remember the words to.

Sighing, Mary Margaret shut her eyes and dropped her head against the upturned palms of her hands. She couldn't focus, and to be honest she questioned the need to. It felt like she had graded this exact same math worksheet a thousand times before. Like her life could be boiled down to a tedious and predictable pattern, that she must be tedious as well for living that way.

Because she would grade papers, and then, since the winter weather promised to be staved off awhile longer by the last days of fall, she would walk home. Once home, she would cook and eat alone before reading a few chapters of a book with an overly contrived and too familiar plot. She would fall asleep - never dream - and in the morning she would wake up to repeat the same habits, the same droll routines, probably every day until she died.

Packing up, she put on her coat and left. Nothing worthwhile was going to be achieved when all she could think about was Regina. It wasn't helpful. It wasn't healthy. Her life may not be perfect but it certainly wasn't when she was helping at the mansion.

As she walked down the hallway and out the school's front entrance, she tested the doors to be sure that they had locked behind her. Then she turned to follow the sidewalk home. A route as uninteresting as the rest of her life.

There were things she could do though, steps she could take, ways to break up the tedium and give a sense of meaning to her days. She could spend more time volunteering at the hospital, get more involved with the PTA, she could -

Blinking, Mary Margaret rubbed a drop of water from the tip of her nose.

She paused and sighed, praying that it was just one anomalous water droplet. But another landed on the back of her hand as it gripped the straps of her shoulder bag. And just as she lifted her face to to see dark clouds rolling in overhead, there was a crack of thunder and rain started to fall in heavy sheets.

At once, she picked up her pace, half running along the quickly dampening walkway, puddles gathering against her heels.

Silently cursing herself and trying to keep the top of her bag pressed between her shoulder and arm, lest the pages within get soaked, a car pulled up beside her.

"Need a lift?"

It was the Sheriff.

Graham was leaning over the passenger side of his squad car. The window was rolled down just enough for Mary Margaret to hear him over the rain hitting the pavement.

She thought about turning him down. He was a nice man and had never been anything but friendly towards her. Still, something about him put her on edge. But just as she was about to decline his offer, another peal of thunder made her jump, and she nodded.

"Maybe. If it's no trouble?"

He smiled and leaned back into the driver's seat.

"None at all. Get in."

Shutting the door firmly behind her, the relative quiet of Graham's car felt unsettling, worsened as the rain started to seep through her coat making everything uncomfortably damp.

Pulling away from the sidewalk and driving towards the city center, the windshield wipers beat back and forth. Mary Margaret watched them in silence trying to ignore the water squelching in her shoes.

"You're sure this is ok? I wouldn't want to impose."

She angled to look at him as she spoke, the bag still under her arm making it difficult. As he responded, she moved it to her lap and carefully looked inside to see how much water had made its way in.

"It's fine Mary Margaret, I'm actually headed this way anyhow."

"Oh?" She said, mind half fixed on finding the keys to her apartment among the only slightly wet contents of her bag.

"Um, I'm actually headed to to Mifflin Street."

She almost laughed at the irony.

"You're not visiting the mayor are you?"

It was half a joke, one she only really made because she thought he would laugh and tell her no he was going another block west or that it was just the next stop on his regular beat or _literally_ anything else. It would have been too absurd a scenario for her to get picked up by someone going to the very house she couldn't get out of her head.

"Yeah, actually."

Just as her fingers made contact with the rough edges of her keys, she dropped them back to the bottom of her bag.

"Why? Is everything ok? Is it Henry? Regina?"

"They're fine," Graham said slowly, but she was staring at him now. And as she watched him, eyes wide with worry, she saw his throat bob against the tight collar of his shirt. It occurred to her then that if his hands hadn't been sliding up and down the leather steering wheel he might have loosened his tie to try and swallow the coming admission, "It's actually an _off duty_ visit."

Suddenly, she wished she'd just walked home despite the rain.

Because _of course_ there was something going on there. She'd suspected it before. In fact, it should have been painfully obvious with the way Regina slipped away when he called, how often he'd stop by to drop off paperwork just as Mary Margaret was leaving for the night, the way seeing them together made the itch in the back of her mind flare. But suspecting and knowing were two different things, and this confirmation of their _off duty visits_ was affecting her in frankly unwanted ways.

Turning her head to look out the window, it was silent as she watched the rain track down the glass.

When her building came into view, the car had hardly stopped before Mary Margaret had stepped out with a tight smile and a polite thank you. Without looking back she walked inside and briskly up the stairs - head down and rummaging again for her keys.

Gripping them tightly, she stepped onto the landing, shoved them in the lock, and fumbled inside.

Her apartment was dark and empty. And Mary Margaret was alone.

Stripping out of her still damp clothes, she piled them against the door. It wasn't like her to leave a mess, but as she looked at the heap of wet socks, pants, and coat she didn't move to pick them up. She didn't go to get a laundry basket. Instead, she reached for the large wool afghan draped over the sofa - wrapping it tight around her.

Her head still ached.

As she let her body sink into the plush material of the couch, Mary Margaret played back her encounter with Graham - the aching growing worse as she did.

She knew she should stop - knew she should get up and cook and eat and read and sleep just like she had yesterday, just like she would do tomorrow - but the only thing she did was sit and wonder why he was allowed to be part of Regina's life and she wasn't.

Why she wanted to be part of Regina's life at all.


End file.
